


Don't Feed the Plants

by theunknownfate



Category: Little Shop of Horrors, Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Kink Meme, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:01:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theunknownfate/pseuds/theunknownfate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this kinkmeme prompt: I Think It's Suppertime<br/><i>Every day on his way to work, Walter walks past the same dingy little florists shop in Hell's Kitchen. One day, he notices a crowd around the shop's display window and finds that they're all gawking at a very unusual plant...and something about it just doesn't feel right at all. </i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>And lately, there seem to be more mysterious disappearances than usual in his neighborhood...</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>Yep, my Halloween request -- Little Shop of Horrors crossover, please?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was another miserable morning and Walter was on his way to work. He had been out all night and had overslept nearly a half hour. He could make it if he hurried, but the crowd outside of Mushnik's Flower Shop slowed him down. He didn't have time to gawk, so he shouldered his way through the crowd, only throwing a glance at the window out of annoyance, not curiosity. 

Plants were not his field, but this one was hideous. It had a bulb that was a little too phallic and a ridge that could be a more feminine attribute. No wonder the bored business people and gutter-minded were fascinated. He growled to himself and went on to work, trying to ignore the queasy lurch in his stomach.

He was able to forget about the plant after awhile, but the unease didn't go away. He hadn't been quite right since the eclipse a few days ago, but this was the first time he considered he might really be sick. It hadn't hurt his appetite though and he went to eat lunch on the bench where he could eavesdrop on Ronette and Crystal and Chiffon. 

He didn't mind the girls. For all their bluster and attitude, they had never actually done worse than skip school and loiter. It was hard to begrudge them that. They were never going to leave Skid Row anyway and they were surprisingly well-informed. The girls knew a little about just about everything going on and on some things they knew quite a bit. Listening in on the three was an easy way to find out what was going on under every one else's noses. 

He spent his lunch break on the sidewalk bench if it wasn't raining and the bus stop bench if it was. The girls were usually milling around, talking and arguing. Their devotion to each other was endearing and their attention to detail was ruthless. Through them, he knew that the Mr. Mushnik was a cranky tightwad. That there was a masochist around the corner who was always looking for a new way to get hurt. That the local greaser was actually a dentist who abused his access to the nitrous oxide. And that the tarted-up woman who worked in the flower shop was not a slut, just a little dim. 

"Girl just don't know enough to know better," Ronette had lamented once, equal parts sympathy and contempt. Walter had been willing to accept her theory. 

The girls were at the corner, out of sight of Mushnik's window, but still under the awning. They stepped back to let him pass, calling him Mr. Manners and flashing big grins at him. He had tipped his hat to them once and they had been amused and charmed. He sometimes wondered how much they knew about him and had to be careful not to do it when he had his real face on. He sat down on his usual bench and pretended interest in a sandwich until their conversation resumed.

They were discussing how they had seen bee-up-his-butt Mushnik tear away from his own shop last night. And today there had been police talking to the dim blonde in the minidress. Had she finally had enough of her lowlife boyfriend? Half of her bad reputation came from him. Had she had enough and finally taken a shovel to the dirtbag? They decided that no. Audrey didn't have it in her to fight back. 

Which turned the conversation to who might've been protecting her. Not Mushnik. He didn't care if any of his coworkers lived or died so long as he didn't have to pay a cent more than he had to. So what had he seen to send him scrambling? It was Crystal who suggested Seymour. It was the quiet ones who snapped, they all agreed, but it was hard to imagine. 

Seymour had always been nice. He had helped Chiffon bury her cat when it had been run over by a motorcycle. He had given Ronette his old umbrella when she had been stood up in the rain. And when Mushnik had caught Crystal going through the dumpster for flowers to take when her Mom had been in the hospital, Seymour had claimed she was helping him look for his watch that he had accidentally dropped in. When Mushnik had gone back inside, Seymour had given her a bunch of carnations that were barely wilted and shooed her off gently. They liked him, they didn't want him to be in trouble. But…

That night, it was Rorschach who came to the basement door of the flower shop. Gossiping teenagers might not be the best lead, but the insistent foreboding in his gut required some sort of action.


	2. Chapter 2

A light was on in the basement and the lock was easy to pick. There was a bed in the corner, and a nightstand, and tables covered with gardening materials. It felt like a sanctuary, almost like the Owl Nest, except for how hopeless and pathetic it was. He could smell potting soil and fertilizer and the green, lush smell of fresh plants. There in the corner was the plant he had seen before, but now it was huge. Unless the one in the window had been just a bud. 

It was even more disgusting than it had been. The labia-like ridge was swollen and red as a whore's lipstick now. The green skin had become spotted with lighter vesicles and he was reminded again of diseased genitals. It felt unnatural and made his skin crawl. He was glad he couldn't smell it. He grimaced and turned away to look for any sign of human foul play. 

The first thing he noticed was the axe. It wasn't unusual in itself there among the other edged garden tools, but it looked guiltily clean and shiny to him. He went for a closer look. It was nice and clean, but he worked the head up a fraction and sure enough, there was a rim of something dark dried under the edge. A soft crunch made him look up, like someone trying to chew hard candy on the sly. There was no one there, and no disturbance upstairs, and the door he had come through was still closed. He went back to the axe.

It didn't have to be blood, he told himself. It could be soil from the plants or some kind of dark sap. A new sound, this one the ceramic grate of a flower pot shifting. Had he disturbed one of the stacks of pots? No. Something was there. 

Axe still in hand, he surveyed the room again. There was no place for anyone to hide in the sad little home. He could see under the cot from there. The only thing out of place was the bulbous monstrosity in the corner and- had the bud turned to face him? He stepped closer to it. It actually looked like it had a smug little smirk on the lips. Horrible.

But there, on the rim of the pot it was in, a telltale spatter. He cast around and saw another one on the edge of the nearest table. Blood. Had to be. He set the axe down on the table to follow the trail and felt something snag his ankle. He had stepped into the circle of a vine. With a grunt of irritation, he gave it a shake. 

It jerked tight, yanking him off his feet with impossible strength. He was dragged across the floor straight to the plant and the obscene head of it opened into a fanged maw. It was like his teenage nightmares given teeth and it was laughing as it pulled him. 

He had a moment of paralyzed terror, but none of his emotions took long to turn into rage. He kicked and roared, and spun to fire the grapnel gun out through the tiny basement window. It shattered the pane and locked on the edges and the line zipped taut. The plant made a displeased sound and pulled him harder. 

He couldn't reach the axe and it was already painful to be stretched between the window and the monster's gaping mouth. He fumbled with his free hand for anything in his pockets that he could fight with. He was too far away to use the pepper, his lockpicks weren't sharp enough to stab with, box of matches had maybe two left, his journal was- there! The switchblade he had taken from a young mugger in exchange for a broken arm was there, cold and heavy. 

He would have to let go of the grapnel to reach his ankle, which he couldn't quite stand to do. He pushed the release and it fed him several more feet of cable, letting the thing pull him across the floor. It was laughing again, crooning and mocking, and before his feet came into contact with the mouth, he flung the whole handful of pepper into it. 

It didn't have eyes, but it winced and contorted and then sneezed. In that second, its grip loosened. Rorschach whipped out the blade and slashed at the vine holding him. The plant shrieked and he let the grapnel yank him away to the far wall again. The plant swore, insulting him and he couldn't even process that. The axe was still out of reach but there was a shovel and Rorschach swung it at the basement gas valve.  
Over the hiss of escaping gas was the rasp of the flower pot inching across the cement floor.The plant had shot out more vines and was dragging itself forward. Rorschach severed the nearest vine with the shovel's edge and sprinted for the door. Another vine blocked the way. He slashed it, but the stump slapped the shovel away. 

Rorschach hit the door full force, flinging it wide and bolting into the alley. He got out of reach and the bellowing plant fell silent. He wondered if one of the places Mushnik had cut costs was insurance, but it didn't stop him from lighting a match and throwing it through the broken window. There was a blast of flame and another shriek. He didn't know how long it would burn or if it would be enough to kill the thing. There was motorcycle hidden in the alley which probably had gasoline, and in the shop there was fertilizer and that might be enough to set the whole place up. 

He got to work and when the entire shop was in flames, stood across the street to make sure nothing made it out. Movement made him turn quickly, but it was Crystal at a window. Ronette and Chiffon had crowded behind her to see. 

"Ladies," he said, remembering not to tip his hat. He turned and walked away before they could ask him anything. He would hear what they said about it tomorrow.


End file.
